


Between The Lines

by Carpenoctemily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, One Shot, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-11-28 17:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpenoctemily/pseuds/Carpenoctemily
Summary: There are some things that just aren't shown on camera. There are some things we wish weren't shown on camera.This is a collection of things I wish were put in the show, and a few fixes to things I wish weren't.





	1. You're Not Real

**Author's Note:**

> I have an absolutely massive collection of Supernatural one-shots, so I figured I'd dump a few here. Will be updated whenever I actually write down one of the ideas I get.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is so far gone that it takes all he has left in him to convince himself that Gabriel isn't real, either.

"How are you doing today, Sam?" Dr.  Kadinsky asks as he walks into the room, carrying the tray that holds Sam's medication.

"Fine," Sam says quietly, looking up and taking the pills he's handed by the doctor, swallowing them dry. For a second, Sam feels a bit fuzzier than usual, then Lucifer grins and the feeling goes away, replaced by the one Sam has become all too familiar with in the past week. The feeling of dying.

"Have you slept?" Dr. Kadinsky asks a bit too hopefully.

"I tried," Sam says truthfully. "I've been trying. But I just can't." The doctor nods, giving Sam one last pitying look before leaving him alone with the angel that haunts his mind.

"Finally," Lucifer says, resuming his actions from before the doctor arrived—singing off-key while throwing firecrackers to the beat. Sort of. Every time one goes off, Sam flinches involuntarily, and he can feel the looks he receives from the other patients when they walk past. Lucifer seems to be timing his throws for whenever someone is sure to see Sam.

Everyone here thinks Sam is crazy, he can see it. The doctors, the nurses, even the other nut cases. Sam is crazy even among the crazy. They won't have to worry about him much longer, though. He'll be dead soon enough if Lucifer gets his way.

Everyone's giving up on Sam, not that he can blame them. He's given up on himself. Dean left two days ago, trying to find help, and he never came back. He probably never will. All those pills that are supposed to put Sam to sleep just make everything worse, push him farther into an inescapable haze where Lucifer is more than just a hallucination. Maybe he is. Or maybe he isn't, and Sam is actually just as crazy as everyone else seems to think he is.

Either way, everyone's given up on Sam. So when a voice he hasn't heard in years makes an appearance in Sam's mind, Sam doesn't give it a second thought. At least, not at first.

"Stop beating yourself up like that," The archangel Gabriel says from somewhere behind Sam. Sam ignores the voice, figuring Lucifer is messing with his head again. Then he notices that the devil's near-constant singing and firecrackers have suddenly stopped. And then Lucifer speaks up.

"You're seeing this too, right, Sammy?" He asks. "Because believe it or not, that's not me." Lucifer sounds so genuinely surprised that Sam actually puts in the extreme amount of effort it takes to turn around, and the familiar face of the other archangel—the dead one—that greets him is so realistic that Sam almost thinks it's real. Almost.

"You're not real," Sam says tiredly, looking down at his hands and smiling a little bit. "I'm already dying, does my head really need to add  _another_ archangel to the mix?"

"Sam, what's happened to you?" Gabriel asks, sounding genuinely concerned. That's something Sam never thought was possible coming from the Trickster, and it further confirms his beliefs. For whatever reason, Sam's screwed-up brain decided he needed not one but  _two_ angels torturing him. Because apparently, Satan alone isn't good enough for Sam Winchester.

"Didn't you hear me?" Sam asks, sighing. "I'm dying. And hallucinating. And now I'm explaining my screwed-up mind to a product of my screwed-up mind."

"I think that means you're talking to yourself," Lucifer says, and Sam manages a small smile at the thought that he's confused Satan. Or at least the hallucination person of Satan that's slowly killing him. Wow, Sam really is messed up.

"You think I'm a hallucination?" Gabriel asks, almost sounding offended. That's more like the Trickster that Sam used to know, but he still doesn't believe the act for a second.

"Well, what else could you be?" Sam asks rhetorically. "You're dead. Have been for years. And my brain is so messed up it decided to bring in a second archangel to add some variety. Why don't you join Lucifer in torturing me? You can sing a duet."

"Castiel couldn't fix you," Gabriel says. It's not a question, and Sam must look insane talking to nothing like this, but he replies anyway. Maybe he's just desperate for someone to talk to who isn't Lucifer, a doctor, or another patient.

"Castiel is dead," Sam says simply. "He's also the one who got me into this situation in the first place. Hell, if he comes back, Dean will probably just put him back six feet under again." Gabriel is silent as if he's processing the information. Great, another hyper-realistic hallucination. Just what the doctor ordered.

"He's not dead," The archangel says after a minute.

"So, that's your trick." Sam decides. "Lucifer gets to remind me how horrible of a person I am, and you get to give me false hope about the only people in the world I ever cared about. What's next? Jess is actually alive and living in San Francisco? Ellen and Jo are backpacking across Europe?"

"Castiel and Dean are on their way here right now, along with Meg, the demon," Gabriel says.

"Yeah, right. That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." Sam replies halfheartedly. "An angel, a demon, and a hunter walk into a mental hospital. Oh, and the angel just came back from the dead and the demon is being helpful for some reason, even though like five years ago she possessed the hunter's brother and tried to get him killed. Sure."

"Oh, can I use that?" Lucifer asks excitedly. "An angel, a demon, and a hunter walk into a mental hospital..." He starts mumbling about punchlines while Gabriel continues to examine Sam.

"You're seeing Lucifer?" He asks after a minute, and Sam raises an eyebrow.

"Aren't you supposed to be in my head? You should know this stuff already." Sam says, shaking his head. "Yeah. I've been stuck with him since Cas broke down the wall in my mind. You should have seen me a few months ago. He had me convinced that I was in another fake world he created down in the Cage. I nearly shot Dean point-blank in the chest."

"I'm so sorry," Gabriel says.

"What's that going to do?" Sam asks. "You're dead. I'm dying. This time tomorrow, I'll probably be back in Hell, and you'll go back to doing whatever it is that hallucinations of dead angels do in their free time."

"Sam, I'm not-"

"Sam, we want to try something." A male nurse says, entering the room and cutting Gabriel off. The fact that Gabriel is a hallucination is confirmed when the nurse doesn't blink an eye at the man standing beside him with a grim expression on his face. "Lie down,  I'll explain on the way." The nurse gently pushes Sam down onto the bed, and the world spins as blood rushes to his head. Sam blinks a couple of times as his vision blurs repeatedly. By the time it clears, Sam and the nurse are in the hallway. Sam pulls weakly at the restraints that have appeared on his wrists as he's pushed into a room he doesn't recognize.

"Where... Whe-Where are we?" Sam asks, looking around at the blurry room. The sudden motion of being pushed onto the bed has apparently disoriented Sam more than he expected. He is, however, able to see Lucifer sitting on a windowsill, grinning, and Gabriel standing next to the door with his arms crossed.

"Electroshock therapy," The nurse says, turning on the machine beside him. "Ordinarily, they keep this thing set on low." He turns the knob. "But I was thinking we could experiment a little. What do you say, Sam?" The nurse turns the knob as far as it will go and places the headpiece on Sam's head. Sam pulls harder against the restraints, and the nurse grins. "Let's get that head strapped in." He says, his eyes flashing black as he turns on the power.

All Sam can feel after that is excruciating pain, then he sees a bright light.

"What?!" The demon exclaims. "That's impossible! You're dead!"

"Sorry, but I can't let you hurt Sam and get away with it. He's got enough on his plate as it is." Gabriel smites the demon before Sam's eyes, heading for Sam as the body drops to the floor. Gabriel turns the machine off but Sam continues to shake, electricity still running through his body. Gabriel takes out the rubber mouth guard and removes the headpiece, and all the while Sam just stares at the  _very real_ archangel who just probably saved his life.

"Y-You're r-real?" Sam stutters, partially from surprise but mostly from the electricity still running through him.

"I told you, kiddo," Gabriel says with a smile. "I'll be back full-time eventually. For now, don't tell my little bro." He smiles and vanishes, leaving Sam alone with the demon's body, still tied to the bed. 

Seconds later, however, Castiel runs through the door, alive just like Gabriel had said.

Less than an hour later, Lucifer is gone from Sam's mind, and Cas is the one seeing things. Cas is alive. Dean came back for Sam.

And the Trickster is out there somewhere, watching over them all.

 


	2. Love You, Jess. Bye.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you just need somebody to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is set after the end of Season 10, hence the mentions of the Mark of Cain.

Dean is sitting on his bed, flipping through a lore book, when he notices that Sam left something pretty important behind when he left earlier.

"Oh, Sammy," He chuckles, closing the book and picking up his brother's silver phone. "You're going to regret this one." Dean unlocks the phone with ease—Sam's password is 1983, how predictable—and looks through his brother's apps. Sam has notes on like every supernatural creature ever, and some other notes like a grocery list and some phone numbers, probably from other hunters. Sam has one audio recording, an exorcism Dean is pretty sure they've actually used before. But that's stuff Dean already knew about. What interests him is Sam's photos. There are multiple pictures of Sam with Dean, as well as a few shots of scenic places the brothers ran into driving to different cases. Then Dean discovers an album filled with videos, mostly of Sam's face. There are quite a few, some significantly longer than others, and the most recent one is from only a couple of months ago, around the time Dean was freed of the Mark. The earliest ones date back to Sam's days at Stanford. What surprises Dean is that the first few videos feature two faces, Sam's and Jessica's. The very first one depicts the blonde girl mid-laugh, and as Dean presses play, he quickly learns why.

"Hey, Sam!" Jessica says cheerfully. "I found this old video camera in your stuff and decided to make a video to surprise you. You're out right now, buying some stuff with Zach for a science project. You've been acting kinda weird lately, but I'm pretty sure it's because you have an interview coming up." She giggles again. "My boyfriend is gonna be a lawyer!" Jessica exclaims in a sing-song voice, giggling again. Dean can't help but smile. Jessica's bubbly personality is infectious. "Anyway, when you get home, we're making spaghetti. Love you!" The video ends and the next one starts up immediately. Dean has to pause the second video because he's too busy laughing at Sam's adorable baby face.

"Hey Jess, you like my camera?" Sam asks, his tone teasing and his smile brighter than any Dean has seen in years. "My brother gave it to me a few years ago, said it used to belong to my dad. I'm probably going to upload everything on this camera to my phone soon." He pauses, grinning so wide Dean can see his dimples. "And that spaghetti was amazing." Right before the video ends, Sam sticks his tongue out at the camera. "Love you, Jess. Bye." Dean smiles as the next video starts, thinking. Sam must have taken the time to transfer all of these videos to each of his phones over the years and probably his laptops, too.

"Heya, Sam," Jessica says in the next video, tears in her eyes but a wide smile on her face. "I can't believe it. Zach came by earlier while you were out and he  _may_ have told me what you've  _really_ been shopping for. I knew you didn't have a science project!" She frowns. "Wait, are you even taking a science class? Anyway, you better hurry up before I find the ring! I love you so much!" Ring? Did Sammy...

"Hey, Jess," Sam says with a smirk. "I know you already knew, but would it have killed you to act more surprised when I proposed? It was kind of embarrassing how chill you were about it. Anyway, you're my fiancee now. I can't believe it. I love you, Jess. Bye." Dean glances at the next few videos and realizes that there are no more that feature Jessica. His heart clenches in his chest as the next video loads and Sam appears, eyes red and cheeks shiny with tears.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean whispers. This video has to be from right after Jessica died.

"Hey, Jess," Sam says slowly, chuckling half-heartedly. "I'm not sure why I'm making this video. I just... I feel like you'll be able to see it, you know? Maybe you'll come back as a ghost." He pauses, pulling a little black box into the frame and opening it to expose a silver ring. "You left this on the nightstand and I grabbed it right before I saw you. Now it's all I have... I couldn't save the camera, but luckily I saved all the videos on a floppy disc last week." Sam hesitates, and the box disappears from view. "I'm so sorry, Jess..." His voice cracks and a few more tears fall from his eyes as he ends the video without saying goodbye. In the next video, Sam looks about a year older but just as shaken.

"Hey, Jess," He begins as usual. "I've been really busy this past year. Dean and I have been trying to find the demon who killed you. Dad is dead now, killed by the same guy. I know you probably thought I hated him, but really I was just mad. I don't even think it was really him I was mad at." Sam frowns. "Dean is hiding something from me. I think Dad told him something before he died, something about me. Maybe he told him that I wasn't worth it. Everyone I care about seems to die, so I wouldn't blame Dean if he wanted to leave. I don't know what I'd do if he did." Sam smiles weakly. "I love you, Jess. Bye." Dean grimaces as the next video loads, remembering what happened when he told Sam the truth about John Winchester's last words.

"Hey, Jess." The next video is timestamped only a couple of weeks after the last one, but Sam is wearing the same shaky expression. "Apparently, Dad told Dean that he may have to kill me. A couple of days ago, a demon tried to get him to do it. Being possessed is terrible. She made me watch the whole thing. Dean didn't budge, not even when the demon tried to kill our friend Jo. What will happen if it's really me? What if I kill Dean? Jess, I'm scared of myself. There's something wrong with me, and I don't know what to do. I..." He frowns, biting his lip. "No matter what happens, I'll always love you, Jess. Bye."

"Hey, Jess." In the next video, Sam is crying again. He's also another year older, and Dean's stomach turns as he realizes what this video must be about. "Last year, I was stabbed in the back and killed. It felt horrible, I'll tell you that much. But it was so much worse when I found out that Dean sold his soul to save me. Three months ago, his contract ended and he died. Went to Hell. He was all I had left." Sam chokes down a sob and Dean's heart breaks. "Last month, I went on a suicide mission. I told myself I wanted to kill Lilith, but I think I just wanted her to kill me. Ruby stopped me, though. Saved me. And she told me that I can help people. Instead of stabbing them with the demon knife when they're possessed, I can save them. Exorcise them. Get rid of the demon and keep the person alive. But I have to drink demon blood to do it. If Bobby ever finds out, I don't want to know what he'll do. If Dean were still alive..." Sam trails off, shaking his head. "I still love you, Jess. Bye."

In the next video, Sam has a black eye and a split lip, and Dean notices that he's sitting on the couch in Bobby's living room. It's been another year or so, and Dean is pretty sure this video also has something to do with Ruby.

"Hey, Jess," Sam says. "So, Dean and Bobby found out about the whole demon blood thing, and they told me not to trust Ruby. I should have listened. If I had, maybe Lucifer wouldn't be running around. I started the apocalypse, Hess. And now Dean hates me. I chose to trust a demon over him, so he hates me. I don't blame him. I hate me, too. But I still love you. Bye, Jess."

Dean wipes away a few stubborn tears, waiting for the next video to load. Dean recognizes the white walls in the background as a hospital room, and the timestamp says it's the mental hospital Sam was put in when he couldn't sleep because of his hallucinations. When he was dying.

"Hey, Jess," Sam says, his voice low and his words slightly slurred. Every few seconds, he flinches, so Lucifer must be doing something in the background. "The nurse is letting me record this video before my next round of meds. Dean left yesterday, some last-ditch attempt to find a way to save me. I don't think he's going to be back in time. Everyone is being a little too nice to me today. They know I'm going to be dead soon. I know it, too.  I could be dead this time tomorrow. I think that Lucifer is finally going to let me sleep, except I'll never wake up." He yawns, smiling weakly. "At least I'll finally get some rest." Sam pauses, considering something, then his smile gets a bit bigger. "And I'll finally get to see you again." He adds. "I miss you, Jess. And I love you."

There are only two videos left. One is from around the time that Kevin died and Sam kicked Gadreel out of his body, and the last video is the most recent, the one from right after Sam got rid of the Mark of Cain.

"Hey, Jess," Sam says. "I tried to close the gates of Hell a few months ago and nearly died in the process. I would have, except that Dean tricked me into being possessed by an angel. Well, it turns out that that angel killed our friend, Kevin, along with a bunch of other people. With my body. My hands. Their blood is on  _my_ hands. Gadreel, the angel, kept me in a daydream the whole time, but when I expelled him I got some of the memories back. I felt Crowley sticking steel rods in my brain. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life, and that's saying something. Gadreel is gone now, at least. But I can't find it in myself to forgive Dean. I need him, but I can't trust him. Not anymore. But I have to. I don't know what to do, Jess. Bye, I guess. I love you."

In the very last video, Sam is sitting in his bedroom in the Bunker, a grim expression on his face.

"Hey, Jess," He says. "It's been a crazy year. Dean got turned into a demon, and then he tried to kill me, and then I cured him. But he still had the Mark of Cain, and it changed him. When Charlie died, he killed an entire family of immortals. And last week, he killed Death. The Mark is gone now, but I still don't know how to feel. Death told Dean to kill me, and he nearly did. I thought he was going to. When he swung the scythe and I closed my eyes, I really thought I was going to die. I thought Dean was going to kill me. My brother." Sam pauses, rubbing his hand over his face. "I don't know if I'll be able to look at him the same way anymore. I know it wasn't him, but... it was more him than the demon was. He called me Sammy for the first time in months, and he  _meant_ it. The demon only said that to tease me, but Dean meant it. And he swung the scythe. I've died and nearly died so many times, but I've never been as scared as I was then. I've never thought my own brother was going to kill me. I love him, Jess. More than anything. But I don't know how to feel anymore." Sam sighs. "Love you, Jess. Bye." The last video ends but Dean keeps staring at the phone, his green eyes focused on Sam's hazel ones, partially hidden behind a gray play button. Dean never knew how Sam felt when all of those horrible things happened to him. He had always figured Sam just kept his emotions inside, like Dean did, never telling a soul. But Sam has been telling someone this whole time. He's been telling the love of his life.

Dean turns off Sam's phone and sets it back down on the nightstand just as the motel room door opens. Sam walks inside, his forehead creased in concentration as he loosens his tie.

"Hey, Dean," He says. "So, it turns out the last victim was actu- Are you okay?" Sam cuts himself off mid-sentence when he sees his brother's red eyes and morose expression. Without thinking, Dean stands, pulling Sam into a tight hug. "Dean, what's wrong?" Sam asks, confused and probably a little bit worried. Most of our hugs seem to happen when one of us has just come back from the dead.

"You need a new password for your phone," Dean says simply. He can tell that Sam knows what he saw because the younger Winchester immediately stiffens, face red.

"Dean, I-"

"Sammy, just shut up, okay?" Dean says, cutting his brother off. "First off, yeah, I did actually try to kill you. But I couldn't, even under the Mark's influence. The demon was another story. Another  _person_." Sam relaxes slightly, and Dean smirks. "Were you ever going to tell me that you and Jessica were engaged?" Dean asks.

"I was," Sam says honestly. "That night when she died, I was going to call after you had gotten far enough away and tell you. But then the fire happened, and by the time I could even bring myself to think about it, I figured there was no point. She was dead, so it's not like we could ever get married."

"Do you still have the ring?" Dean asks curiously, and Sam nods.

"It's in my room at the Bunker," He admits. "I kept it in the bottom of my duffel for years, and somehow it never got lost or broken in any of the numerous car accidents we've been in."

"Maybe God decided that you needed something in your life to stay constant," Dean suggests with a smile.

"I guess," Sam agrees, shrugging halfheartedly. "I just... I still miss her, I guess."

"She was your soulmate, Sammy," Dean says, believing it wholeheartedly. "It's been over ten years and that much is still obvious. Wherever Jessica is, I'm sure she's watching over you."

"You really think so?" Sam asks, looking at Dean with genuine, hopeful innocence in his eyes. Ten years, a hundred deaths, and a million trials and tribulations, and Sam is still in love with Jessica, there's no doubt about it. And Dean is absolutely certain that she was just as in love with him.

So there isn't even the smallest crack in Dean's grin, or a hint of hesitation in his reply.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."


	3. Man’s Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s always been against dogs, but with Sam’s 31st birthday coming up, he can’t resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place sometime after Season 9 Episode 5.

"Morning, sunshine." Dean says as Sam stumbles into the kitchen, half asleep and still reeling from his latest series of nightmares. Sam sits down and takes the plate of eggs and bacon Dean hands him, barely even acknowledging them before he pushes the plate away, putting his head in his hands. "Woah, what's up?" Dean asks, immediately wide awake and concerned.

"Nothing, I'm just... tired, you know?" Sam says. Obviously Dean knows, and he definitely knows that Sam isn’t just tired. Winchesters are never _just_ tired.

"Sure." Dean says. "So, what did you see?" Sam looks up at this, and Dean sends him a lopsided grin. "Dude, I know you. I know what you look like after a nightmare. So tell me about it."

"It's... nothing, Dean, really." Sam says with a sigh. "It was just a dream. I'll be fine." He doesn’t have the heart to tell Dean that even now, an hour after he woke up, Gadreel's voice is echoing in Sam’s mind. Sam will probably never tell Dean that every time he closes his eyes, he can see Kevin's eyes flashing as Sam’s hand touches his forehead.

"If you're sure..." Dean says. He doesn't believe Sam, and Sam doesn’t blame him. Sam wouldn't believe himself either. "Hey, anyway, I figured since Heaven and Hell are quiet and the ghosts and vamps seem to be taking vacations, we could take the day off." Dean changes the subject abruptly, but Sam isn’t surprised. Nightmares aren't something the brothers tend to talk about at length. "You know, go out, explore the town."

"Take the day off? Explore the town?" Sam repeats skeptically. "Dean, we haven't taken a day off in years. And I thought you were determined to kick the angels back up to Heaven. Why stop now?"

"We aren't stopping, just taking a break." Dean argues. "Besides, after all that Gadreel crap, I figured you needed some time off."

"Of course that's what this is about." Sam says, shaking his head. "Dean, I'm fine. Really, I'm fine." Sam is not fine, and he could definitely use a break from hunting, but denying that anything is wrong is pretty much a reflex at this point, for both of the Winchesters.

"Sure you are, kiddo." Dean says. "You definitely didn't have any nightmares last night, right? You definitely aren't about to pass out. You're totally fine."

"Okay, maybe I need some more sleep." Sam gives in. "But so do you, Dean. We always do. We're hunters, we never get enough sleep. I'm fine, I promise."

"Then just take a day off. Go to town with me." Dean says. "There's a Biggerson's, we can get some nice burgers and shakes."

"Sure. Sounds good." Sam says, wise enough to know when to give up. Dean grins, standing and leaving the room. Sam shakes his head, getting to his feet and following his brother into the library, where Dean hands Sam a gun and tucks his own into his belt.

* * *

 "How is it that we've lived right outside of this city for almost a year now, and yet we've never even seen most of it?" Sam wonders, watching as buildings pass. Dean takes a big sip of the Coke he got from Biggerson's, shrugging.

"We're never ho- here." He cuts himself off immediately, and Sam bites his lip. Home. The bunker is supposed to be a home, but it doesn't really feel like one to Sam. Maybe one day it will. Maybe he just don't know what a home is supposed to feel like.

"Well, it's not a bad city." Sam says. “Hey, look, Dean."

"What? What is it?" Dean asks, and Sam watches as his brother’s right hand inches toward his gun.

"No, no, nothing bad." Sam says with a smile, shaking his head. "It's an animal shelter."

"You mean to tell me I nearly shot an animal shelter?" Dean asks incredulously.

"I just... remember the Colonel?" Sam asks. Dean nods, probably thinking about the dog he developed a somewhat unique bond with. "Spending time with him reminded me of how much I used to want a dog as a kid."

"Well, why don't we go look around?" Dean asks, and Sam turns to stare at his brother in disbelief. "What? We aren't taking any of them home, and it's not like we have anything better to do. Go crazy, Sam, look at a few dogs." Sam smiles, and Dean turns into the parking lot, finding a space with relative ease and pulling in. He turns off the car and both brothers get out, heading up to the shelter.

"Hi, how can I help you?" The young woman at the desk asks when Sam and Dean walk through the door.

"Oh, we just came to look around." Dean says. "My brother here was thinking about adopting but I'm not sure we're ready quite yet."

"Well, I'll let you back, and if you need anything just let me know!" The woman says cheerfully, standing. She unlocks the door to the back and the brothers walk through. Instantly, all Sam can hear is barking. There are low barks and high yips and howls and growls and everything in between, but even though the loud noises are giving him a small headache, Sam can't help but smile. Dean heads straight for a German Shepherd who bears a resemblance to the Colonel, and Sam finds himself standing in front of a kennel that holds a small Golden Retriever, a little bigger than a usual puppy, but not by much.

"Hey, buddy." Sam says, and the puppy starts wagging it's tail. "What's your name?"

"Doesn't have one yet." An unfamiliar voice says, and Sam turns to see another woman standing behind him. She has a cat in her arms, and her shirt has the animal shelter's logo on it. "That little guy is brand new, just got here this morning. He's cute, but I'm not sure anyone's going to take him because of his size."

"His size?" Sam repeats, and the woman nods.

"Best we can tell, that boy's five months old." She says. "He's pretty big for his age, and he's only going to get bigger. He's going to grow up to be a giant." The woman looks up at me and smiles a little. "A bit like you, looks like. You're both big guys, and you're both pretty cute, too." At that, she walks away, and Sam turns back to the dog, who is still looking up at him with big eyes.

"Who's your friend, Sammy?" Dean asks, walking over. Sam kneels next to the kennel and sticks his palm against the bars, and the puppy walks over nervously, sniffing Sam’s hand for a second before licking it.

"Doesn't have a name yet." Sam says. "He's a Golden Retriever. Apparently, he's going to get pretty big pretty fast." Sam pulls his hand away and the puppy whimpers, making Sam frown. "Sorry, buddy." He says, and the puppy's tail starts wagging again. Sam stands, turning to see a look on Dean's face that he can't read. "I guess we should go, huh?" Sam asks. Dean doesn't reply, just staring at the puppy with an indecipherable expression on his face. "Dean?"

"Wha... Yeah, right." Dean says, looking back up at Sam and nodding. "Yeah, I guess we should head back. It's getting kind of late."

"See you around, buddy. Hope you find a good home." Sam says, smiling and waving to the Golden Retriever, who wags his tail in reply. Sam turns and heads for the door and Dean follows, that same unreadable look on his face.

* * *

 "Dean?" Sam asks, rubbing his eyes and walking into the kitchen. Dean isn't there, but the coffee machine is running. "Dean?" Sam calls, heading out into the library. It's empty as well, and Sam frowns, instinctively jumping to the worst conclusion. He knows Dean isn't in his room, so where could he be?

"Hey, Sammy." Dean says from behind me, and Sam spins around to see his brother standing in the doorway that leads to the garage.

"Where were you?" Sam asks, confused.

"I woke up a couple hours ago and saw that you weren't up yet, so I went on a milk run." Dean says, holding up a plastic bag. "I also picked up something for you." He tosses Sam another bag and Sam dumps the contents out on the table beside him, confused.

"Dog tags? A leash?" Sam asks, holding up one of the silver tags. "What is this?"

"Read it, you idiot." Dean says.

"If found, please check microchip for information." Sam reads, confused. He picks up the second tag, looking that one over as well. "Vaccinations." He summarizes. The third tag is a different shape from the rest, and it's blue instead of silver. "Buddy Winchester. If found, please call-“ Sam cuts himself off, realizing that the number listed is his own. His eyes widen and he turns to stare at Dean, who grins.

"Happy birthday, Sammy." Dean says, whistling. A familiar puppy runs into the room, skidding to a stop at Sam’s feet. Or at least, he tries to stop. The Golden Retriever runs right into Sam’s legs, sending the tall Winchester to the floor with his paws on his chest. The puppy proceeds to lick Sam’s face, and Sam laughs, sitting up and running his hand down the dog's back.

"You got me... a dog?" Sam asks in disbelief, and Dean shrugs.

"Like I said, happy birthday." He says.

"My birthday's not for three months." Sam replies. "And it's not like we've ever celebrated birthdays before."

"I figured we'd celebrate this year. You needed something, a pick-me-up." Dean says. "Consider this compensation for all of the birthday presents I forgot to get you over the years."

"Thank you, Dean." Sam says, grinning. "Thank you so much."

"What can I say, Sammy?" Dean says. "That little guy kinda reminds me of you."

"Yeah, I guess so." Sam says, clipping the tags in his hand onto the dog's collar. "Hey, Buddy." Sam says, still smiling. Buddy's tail starts wagging and he licks Sam’s hand, making the younger Winchester’s smile widen. "I'm going to take good care of you, okay?"


	4. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When an angel dies, the pattern of their wings is burned into whatever surface they fall upon.

Dean can't look his brother in the eye.

It isn't any fault of Sam's exactly, just that the memories that scar Dean's brother's face are too painful for him to remember. Too hard to look at.

It was supposed to be a simple job. In and out. Get some information from an angel who claims to know Lucifer's whereabouts. Simple, until it wasn't.

The angel knew exactly where Lucifer was, but he didn't tell the brothers. He was on Lucifer's side. It was a trap, always a trap. It wasn't one angel, it was seven, all ready to be the one to put their blades through the Winchester brothers.

The angel blade was ready to pierce Dean's chest when Castiel appeared, killing the angel holding it. The other six attacked but the brothers and their angel held them off, fighting and fighting until only one enemy remained, the one who had originally called the meeting.

His blade was going through Castiel's chest before either brother had time to react.

The angel vanished but Castiel swayed, his eyes blank but his body still in motion. Dean was in the direct path of the fall, and Sam made a split-second decision that he knew would cost him everything.

The younger Winchester brother dove for the angel when he fell, and only his scream finally broke Dean out of his trance.

Castiel's wings were spread across the room, but for an empty space to his left. Sam didn't end up holding Castiel up as he had hoped but instead landed directly in the path of his scorched wings.

Sam's chest and face are scarred. Dean can't look because he can't take the reminder. But Sam doesn't mind.

Sam is okay with Dean not looking at him anymore. He can only imagine what Dean would do if Castiel's wings were burned into his body instead.


	5. Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you come to terms with 180 years of pain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place at the end of Season 11, while Sam, Dean, Casifer, and Chuck are in the bunker together.

It took everything he had in him not to break down when he was zapped into that cage. Not to hide in that corner of his mind where everything was safe, where he could pretend the pain wasn't constantly there, if only for a moment. Even now, every time Lucifer walks into the room, Sam still flinches, memories playing through his mind.

Dean notices. Of course, Dean notices. Dean trained himself to notice every sign of Sam's discomfort. Every time Lucifer walks into a room, Dean is between the Devil and Sam. Protecting his brother. And it helps, a little. But the memories don't leave. The terror. The scars that are invisible to everyone but Sam.

Chuck notices. Sam isn't really surprised, considering Chuck is, you know, all-knowing. But he is surprised when Chuck pulls him aside one day, while Dean and Lucifer are researching.

"Sam," Chuck says, and Sam's eyes immediately turn toward his feet, because even after three days spent in the bunker with God himself, Sam still can't quite believe that Chuck doesn't want to smite him for all of the crap he's done to the world.

Like releasing Lucifer. 

Twice.

"Sam," Chuck repeats more forcefully, and Sam looks up nervously to see Chuck's features lined with worry. "Sam, I need you to understand something." Sam braces himself for some acknowledgment of his failures, but Chuck's words are so unexpected that Sam barely even registers them. "You're my hero."

"I... What?" Sam asks, processing slowly.

"You're probably one of the best human beings I've ever created," Chuck explains. "You and your brother were special from the get-go, but you... you were everything I had planned and more." Sam's eyes are back on his feet, depressing thoughts pushing against the barriers he's erected in his mind. 

"The greatest, most complicated, most important thing I ever created was free will." Chuck continues. "The human ability to challenge your fate and change the outcome you were predestined. Every human has it, and it's resulted in some incredible things. Music. Technology. Cotton candy. But no one has ever utilized their free will quite the way you have. No one has defied their fate like you."

"I..." Sam trails off, biting his lip. He can't respond to that. There's no way to respond to a revelation like that.

"And sure, sometimes it was a bit annoying," Chuck admits. "I mean, I have this kid I need to grow up strong and resilient, and sure, he's doing that, but I also need him to stay with his brother, and there he goes, off to college. There he goes, off to make a life of his own. But then, there he goes, off to sacrifice himself for the world. You were never meant to join Lucifer in the Cage, Sam. You were never meant to go through those years of pain." Chuck sighs heavily and Sam tugs at his lip with his teeth. So that's what this is really about. Not Sam's free will or his mistakes or his redemption, but his nightmares coming to life and his inability to do a thing about it.

"What I'm trying to say is, I get it," Chuck says after a minute. "What you went through down there, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. The only reason I didn't spring you out myself is that I knew that if anyone could handle it, it was you. If anyone had the strength to endure Lucifer's wrath, it was you. And I'm not saying it wasn't horrible. Nightmarish. Scarring. But I lived every second of it with you, Sam, and I understand that torture like that leaves scars. Not physical scars, but psychological ones that never quite heal. I understand that being around Lucifer right now is one of the most difficult things you've ever done."

Sam nods slowly, memories flashing through his mind at warp speed.

"And I need you to understand that Lucifer is powerless," Chuck says. "You are under my protection, Sam. Lucifer cannot hurt you, ever again. He will never put you through what you endured in Hell again, I promise. As long as Lucifer is here, he has nothing to hold over you. I'm not going to tell you to suck it up and pretend everything is okay, because it isn't, and I get that. I'm just telling you that you don't have to be afraid of him anymore. Can you do that?"

"Ye... Yeah, I think." Sam says softly, finally meeting Chuck's eyes. Chuck smiles warmly, and Sam returns it with more ease than he expected.

"In that case, we should probably find Dean. We have an immortal being to kill."


	6. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moral of this story is that no matter how hard we want it... some stories just don't have a happy ending.

When Sam Winchester wakes up on his birthday, he climbs into the driver's seat of the Impala. He drives to the nearest florist, buys an all-white bouquet with no roses. He drives to the cemetery, gets out of the Impala, walks through the gate with the flowers in one hand and a shoebox in the other. He looks at the open area where he can still see Castiel and Bobby and Dean sacrificing themselves to save him, to stop him from destroying everything.

There's a certain irony to coming to Stull Cemetery. It's where his destiny was supposed to unfold, the destiny he narrowly avoided thanks to his brother, his uncle, and his best friend.

There are two headstones in the cemetery that Sam focuses on first. Side by side, just like they're supposed to be. One is old, one is new. One date is correct. One is wrong.

John Winchester was cremated, but Sam decided that he deserved to have a headstone. He deserved to have some memory. Mary, on the other hand, resided here for years before Sam ever truly got to know her.

He just wishes he had had her longer.

Sam kneels beside the old headstone, thinking about the newly deceased woman who doesn't really lie there. He places the bouquet on the grass in front of the headstone, wondering why Winchesters keep coming back to life when all they do is die again.

The next set of graves Sam visits is in the far corner of the graveyard, unofficially a part of the cemetery. He didn't have the money to bury more than one person, and he knew Mary would be the first choice anyway. Besides, these people aren't supposed to exist.

Two more markers, homemade, with two names Sam never wanted to read on a stone. Dean Winchester and Castiel Winchester. Because Cas truly was family.

Sam wishes he had bodies he could have buried here, but there wasn't even enough for a hunter's funeral, much less a real one. Not that it matters. Sam would have been the only attendee.

He opens the shoebox, taking out a photograph. Mary took it one day in secret, giving it to Sam only after it was clear that no one would survive the impending attack. Except someone did.

Now Sam places the photograph on Castiel's empty grave, unable to look at the angel's smile or his brother's laugh in the photo that depicts one of their last happy moments.

And then Sam moves to Dean's grave.

The marker is simple, yet more extravagant than anything Dean would have expected. He never had hope for his own future, expecting to be sent off like a hunter, not given a headstone in a cemetery, even a homemade one. But Sam had to remember his brother somehow. Had to distract himself.

Sam places the shoebox in front of Dean's name, opening the lid.

"I brought your tapes, Dean." He says softly, his voice scratchy. Sam hasn't spoken in weeks, if not months. He has no one to talk to. "I don't need them anymore. There's nothing for me to do with them. So I brought them to you." His voice breaks and he sinks to his knees, shaky hands tracing the letters painstakingly carved into the wood. "I'm sorry, Dean. I tried so hard to save you, and Cas, and Mom, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry." He's crying now, picturing the burned imprint of broken wings and the angel's blue eyes piercing Sam's soul. The smile forever frozen on a blonde woman's face, drawing attention away from the ugly wound in her stomach. The way Sam woke up with Dean draped over him, his brother's body cold. Sam was the one they were after, but Sam was the only one who lived. Mary, Cas, Dean... they all gave their lives for him.

Sam doesn't care, not really.

"Happy birthday to me." He mumbles, pushing himself to his feet and sighing. He turns around, forcing himself not to look back at the graves of his family.

It's been exactly one year since Sam's life ended along with his family's. And as he leaves the cemetery empty-handed, Sam knows in his heart that for the first time in his life, he's well and truly alone.


	7. Three Years Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean went their separate ways after John's death, only to be reunited by the impending apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a short AU of Season 5 if Sam and Dean hadn't spoken since the beginning of Season 2.
> 
> Also, I've already posted this and a few future one-shots on the Supernatural Amino, under the same username.

It's raining harder now, coming down in buckets, and Sam is cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella. Just a simple walk from his motel room to the diner down the block for some takeout. Five minutes, max. Five minutes during which the storm of the century hit.

To anyone else, the storm is a freak weather incident, but to Sam, it only serves to prove that he's in the right place. The thought would be worrying or relieving at any other time, but right now, Sam just really wants to get out of the rain.

Which is why he doesn't see the black '67 Impala sitting outside his motel room as he heads inside.

Sam drops his soggy bag of fast food in the trash, sitting down at the small motel table and cursing softly when his long legs hit the edge. He wakes up his laptop, picking up right where he left off when his stomach interrupted--funnily enough when the storm came, Sam's hunger left. He has bigger things to worry about than food, and Sam hasn't been eating much lately anyway.

"Come on, come on." He says, begging the website to give him something new. Some way to stop this, to save the world from what Sam unleashed on it. Dean would know what to do.

Sam's hands freeze at the unexpected thought. He hasn't seen Dean in over three years, not since John Winchester died. Sam hasn't heard from Dean since Cold Oak, when Dean called and said he was sorry, for everything. Bobby told Sam a year later that Dean was there when Jake sent a knife through Sam's back. That Dean sold his soul for Sam but didn't bother to stick around for the aftermath. Dean died for Sam and didn't even have the decency to show his face. For all Sam knows, Dean is already dead. The deal could have been up years ago, and Sam would never know. Will never know.

And some twisted part of him doesn't really care.

* * *

Morning comes, and it brings fog. Thick, heavy fog that makes it so Sam can't see two feet in front of him, and that's why he runs right into the front of a car, nearly sprawling out on top of it. He curses, holding his hand against his side. He's still got a couple bruised ribs from an unfortunate encounter with a pissed off werewolf, and throwing himself into a windshield isn't helping them heal any faster.

Then Sam gets a closer look at the car, and the pain in his side is the last thing on his mind.

It's an Impala. A black '67 Chevy Impala. And that's just too much of a freaking coincidence for Sam to ignore, because there aren't many of these on the road at all, much less in the exact town Sam went to hoping to find answers. For a second, Sam actually lets himself hope.

Then, right on cue, it starts raining again.

Sam curses, turning and running back into his room, his brother back in his thoughts for the first time in years.

* * *

It takes a full day for the rain to stop this time, and luckily it isn't followed by the fog. Sam can actually see outside his window now, can see the Impala sitting there. Sam has been researching, and every once in a while he'll look up, and the car will be gone. But never for long, and Sam never sees the driver. He briefly considers pulling a badge on the receptionist and asking if anyone who looks like his brother bought a room, but just as quickly decides not to. If Dean really is here, which is unlikely, he probably wants nothing to do with Sam. Honestly, Sam wouldn't blame him.

Sam looks away from the Impala, pulling out his phone and dialing a familiar number.

"Hey, Bobby, I think I may have found something..."

* * *

Figures. Sam just has to pick the one town in California that has apocalyptic omens  _and_  a poltergeist.

He found the victims in the paper he snagged at the gas station, and despite wanting to follow the spontaneous storms, Sam couldn't just leave when people were dying. So here he is, standing outside a cabin in the woods. Because of course, it has to be in the middle of the woods.

"Just once, can a poltergeist pick something more urban to haunt?" Sam asks himself as he picks the lock on the door, unable to break the habit of talking on a hunt despite being alone for over three years.

Getting into the house is easy. It's getting out that turns out to be a challenge.

Sam's barely inside when the door slams shut behind him. He spins around immediately, trying to pry the door open despite knowing his attempts are futile. Then Sam is flying across the room, his back slamming into the living room wall with enough force to send him clear through it and crashing into the kitchen. Which, of course, is where a set of sharp knives are waiting to impale him.

The first knife goes into Sam's right hand, making him drop his salt-filled shotgun and grab his hand with a scream. More knives quickly follow, one slicing his arm, one pinning his jacket to the wall, and the last, as Sam tries to get free, going right into his stomach. And then, as if the poltergeist knows, the barrage stops. Not that it matters.

Sam sinks to the ground, tearing his jacket free of the knife in the wall and holding his hands around the one in his stomach. He's gotten hurt quite a bit in the last three years, but not like this. Not mortally.

Sam is going to die in the kitchen of a haunted house. Dean would be laughing if he were here. Sam really wishes Dean was here.

As the world gets darker and Sam's eyes get heavy, Sam prays that whatever happens, Dean is somewhere, alive and happy. And as he descends into unconsciousness, Sam swears he hears the sound of a rumbling engine.

* * *

When Sam wakes up, he's lying in his motel room. Except, as he looks around, he realizes it isn't. The table is pushed up against the wrong wall. The door is on the wrong side. And between the bed Sam is lying on and the table, there's another bed, which isn't right, because Sam got a single. Right?

"Well, look who's finally up." A voice Sam never thought he'd hear again rings through the room and Sam shoots into a seated position, groaning when his stomach protests.

"Woah, easy tiger," Dean says, and familiar but foreign hands gently push Sam back down on his back. He allows himself to be manhandled, his mind foggier than the weather was a few days ago when he ran into the Impala. Because Sam is pretty sure it really was Dean's Impala now.

"Dean?" Sam asks after a minute, finally collecting his thoughts.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says with a soft smile. "How've you been?"

"I... you..." Sam trails off, frowning. "What're you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Dean remarks. "I guess I should have known you wouldn't go back to school."

"No, I... I couldn't." Sam says apologetically. "I tried, but then Yellow Eyes brought me to Cold Oak and-"

"Azazel." Dean interrupts, and Sam frowns.

"Huh?" He asks, confused.

"The yellow-eyed demon, his name is Azazel. Well, was." Dean says.

"How do you know?" Sam asks, surprised.

"Demon told me," Dean says in a tone that suggests he's closed the subject. "You never answered my question. What're you doing here?"

"Poltergeist," Sam says, and Dean nods.

"Thought so." He says. "Wasn't expecting to find you bleeding out in the kitchen of that house when I got there, though. You're lucky I was in town, you were already paler than vampire food when I walked through the door." Dean doesn't have to say anything else. Sam can fill in the blanks.

The motel room means Dean brought Sam back here. The pull in his stomach whenever he shifts says Dean stitched him up. The aching in his arm says Dean refilled his blood supply, and the bandage wrapped around Dean's elbow gives Sam a pretty good idea of where the blood came from.

"What about you? Were you here for the poltergeist, too?" Sam asks, not really surprised when Dean shakes his head.

"Nah, I was chasing some storms," Dean says. "Figure they'd lead me to Satan. Or didn't you hear, Sammy? Some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage."

The careless way Dean says the words tells Sam that Dean has no idea who sprung Satan. The anger in his voice says that Sam would probably still be lying in that kitchen if he did. And Sam's heart sinks, because seeing Dean brought back that childish hope that maybe his big brother would help him, would fix everything Sam screwed up while they were apart. Now Sam knows better.

Three years apart is enough time for Sam to figure out that his actions have consequences. Unfortunately, the consequences are the end of the world.

"I was here for the storms, too," Sam says after a minute. "Stayed for the poltergeist." Dean nods, thinking hard about something. Sam shifts uncomfortably, grunting a little when he pulls at his stitches but looking away when Dean shoots him a concerned look.

Sam doesn't deserve sympathy. And if Dean knew what Sam had done, he wouldn't be offering it.

* * *

"You know, I never did kill that poltergeist." Dean comments a few hours later when Sam's bandages have been changed and Dean's focus is finally on something other than his brother. "We could take care of it. When you're back in the game, I mean." It's an invitation and an apology rolled into one. It's awkward and it's the opposite of casual and it's about as sincere as a Hallmark card, but it's also Dean reaching out, and three years apart can't have made Dean a more open person. Probably the opposite. Which means this, this is just for Sam. A peace offering.

"Sure." He says before he can change his mind, before he can think about how mad Dean will be when he finds out what Sam did.

"Man, what happened to us?" Dean wonders. "We can't talk to each other, you're all quiet, I haven't seen you in years. After Stanford, we just jumped back into it like you never left. But this..."

"You were there, in Cold Oak, right?" Sam asks after Dean trails off. Dean nods hesitantly, looking down. Now Dean can't meet Sam's eyes, not the other way around.

"How'd you know?" Dean asks.

"Bobby told me, about a year later," Sam explains. "Just out of the blue mentioned it the day after my birthday."

"The day after I died," Dean says softly, and Sam's eyes widen.

"The deal... it was only for one year?" Sam asks in disbelief. He had wondered, of course, if Dean had only gotten two years, or one year, or a month, or a week, or the five minutes Dad got. But knowing his brother got torn apart by those invisible hounds that still haunt Sam's dreams, that hurts. Knowing he wasn't there to even try and stop it hurts even more.

"Nothing you could have done about it," Dean says. "Besides, I'm fine now. Angel pulled me out, named Castiel. Helped me out a few times, after. Helped me keep tabs on you."

"You sent an angel to track me?" Sam asks, a bit offended but not really sure why.

"I wanted to be sure you were okay." Dean defends, then he hesitates. "I almost went and found you, after I got out." He admits. "But I didn't."

"Obviously," Sam replies, the word coming out a bit more harshly than he had intended. "Sorry."

"No, you have every right to be angry," Dean says. "I sold my soul for you and didn't even stay to make sure the demon held her end of the bargain. I should have stayed."

"Wouldn't have changed anything," Sam says, but he still wonders. If Dean had been there, would Lucifer be running around topside?

"You're still my brother," Dean says. "I shouldn't have left you."

"Dean, I..." Sam trails off, biting his lip. "Nevermind." Dean gives him a curious look but Sam ignores it, absorbed in his thoughts. He just got his brother back. Telling Dean the truth would pretty much guarantee that Sam loses Dean again.

Three years apart have taught Sam a lot about himself.

One thing Sam has learned is that he can't survive three more.


	8. Burning Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean almost forgot that one little detail.

Dean barely even notices it the first time Sam shivers. It's January, it's Minnesota, and they're hunting the real-world—or as real-world as the Winchesters' lives can get—equivalent of Jack Frost, some weird, nameless creature that somehow makes the below-freezing temperatures even colder. So yeah, Dean isn't really surprised that Sam is shivering. It's freaking  _freezing_.

The second time, it's not as explainable. The motel room is pretty chilly, sure, but Sam shouldn't be shaking like that, not unless he's sick. And of course, Dean knows firsthand what kind of crap you can catch from a motel room, but Sam's always been a clean freak, and Dean's pretty sure he hasn't been sick in at least a year and a half. And besides, if Sam was sick, Dean would know. Dean always knows. So Sam really has no reason to be shivering like that, but Dean doesn't comment, because that's what Winchesters do.

The third time, Dean is worried. It's not the dead of winter or even an abnormally chilly motel room, it's just the AC in the Impala, which isn't even that good to begin with. But Sam is shaking, and Dean notes warily that his face is pale, almost like Sam was out in the cold too long. And then Sam takes in a gasping breath that cracks in the middle, and Dean realizes that the pale face and the shaking can be attributed to something other than the cold—fear. So either Sam has gotten a lot more sensitive to the cold recently, or he's absolutely terrified of something.

When Sam wakes up a few days later with a startled gasp, Dean is waiting with a heavy blanket, hot chocolate, and the heater cranked. It's only March, but they're in Arizona (a decision of Dean's), and the older Winchester is already sweating. But Sam looks almost relieved, and that's good enough for Dean.

It takes another week, and two more incidents, for Sam to finally open up.

And sure, the concussion Sam got on their last hunt (monsters love to throw Sam into things for some reason) may contribute to his openness, but Dean is glad he can finally figure out why Sam is suddenly terrified of the AC. That is until Sam finally forces it out.

"He was so... so cold," Sam says, and somehow, Dean knows exactly who  _he_  is. And he's definitely kicking himself for not realizing it sooner.

The Devil, contrary to popular belief, does not burn hot. He's actually cold. Freezing cold.

And Dean knows that, of course. Even being in the bunker with Lucifer for a few days made the temperature drop like a vengeful spirit had taken residence. But Dean has been so distracted by other issues (God dying, the end of the world, and all that) that he's ignored the most important one: Sam. Or, rather, Sam's sanity. Because it doesn't seem to be doing too well.

"It's bad enough being around him, but when he was possessing me, God, it was..." Sam trails off, shivering, and Dean adjusts the blanket that's draped over his brother's shoulders.

Dean should have known that being around the Devil for even those few days would take a toll on Sam. He just didn't think it would manifest like this—not that he's complaining. Keeping the heater on for a while is much more manageable than nightmares. Despite that, he should have been watching. He should have noticed sooner.

And if the case Dean finds the next day happens to be in South Florida, well, maybe he's not too comfortable in the cold either.


	9. Demon Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam will never be allowed to forget that he isn't normal.

Sam and Dean follow Castiel to the door hesitantly, still uncomfortable with the idea of going to an angels-only bar.

A  _bar_. Who would have guessed that angels like to drink and play pool like humans, just up in Heaven? It's a crazy idea that neither Winchester can wrap his head around.

"Why are we doing this again?" Sam asks, and Dean sighs.

"Because Cas says there's an angel who hangs here a lot who might have an idea of where Kelly is." Dean reminds his brother, annoyed. Sam is more nervous about this than Dean, something the older Winchester can't understand. If any human would be welcome in an angel bar, wouldn't it be Sam, the nicest goody-two-shoes around?

"Castiel." A man around Dean's height says, nodding to the Winchesters' angelic friend.

"Emmanuel," Castiel replies with a similar gesture, and Dean can't help but wonder if it's some sort of angel version of a handshake. Now that he thinks about it, he's seen Cas and a lot of other angels nod like that in greeting.

"And you've brought..." Emmanuel trails off, examining the brothers closely.

"The Winchester brothers," Castiel says. Emmanuel hesitates but nods, letting the three pass him and enter the bar.

Sam and Dean freeze, looking around in shock. The room looks just like every other bar they've ever been in, from the lights that barely allow for any sight to the two guys arguing at the jukebox, but at the same time, it's so... strange. For one thing, everyone is dressed in the grayscale businesswear that angels seem to wear full time, and despite the feel of the room, both brothers can tell that it's mostly just a front. Angels pretending to be human, something that few have managed to do successfully. Even Cas, for all his trying, isn't a very convincing human being.

"Adriel, good," Castiel says, walking over to the bartender with the brothers trailing behind him. "Is Sachiel here?" As the angels converse, Dean takes in Adriel. Despite being an angelic bartender, she's dressed like a lawyer. Her glossy brown hair is in a perfect bun at the back of her head, not a hair out of place. Her pantsuit is pristine, reminding Dean with some anger of the British Woman of Letters who kidnapped Sam. Her nails are painted white, which fits in with the grayscale color of the rest of her outfit--and that of most angels Dean has seen. Cas's signature blue tie and tan trench coat are likely part of his individuality, which makes Dean wonder if he used to wear the same colorless ensemble as the rest of Heaven's occupants.

"Castiel, why have you brought humans into our home?" A gruff voice asks, and Sam and Dean turn to see a rather tall man regarding them with annoyance in his eyes.

"Zophiel." Castiel replies, his gaze hardening. Whoever this is, it isn't someone Cas likes. Which is probably bad news for the Winchesters.

"Not only have you brought humans here, but you've brought  _him_." Zophiel's eyes shift to Sam, who stiffens. "You brought a Lilim into a house of God. Of purity."

"What the hell is a Lilim?" Dean asks, angry at this angel who thinks singling out his brother is a good idea. Who the hell does he think he is?

"Oh, your angel buddy never told you?" Zophiel says condescendingly. "A Lilim is a half-breed. A hybrid. Half human, half demon. They're less that dirt, less than Nephilims. Abominations. And Castiel has brought one into a place of virtue and honor, a place where no demon should ever go, much less an atrocity like  _that_."

"Virtue and honor?" Dean repeats skeptically. "I mean, come on. It's a bar. There are two guys playing beer pong over there, and I'm pretty sure they're halfway to bed." He nods to a pair of angels who are midway through a makeout session. "This place has the least virtue of any place in Heaven I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of it."

"Nonetheless, no Lilim has a place here," Zophiel says. Dean turns, following the angel's gaze to Sam, who is staring at his feet. Anger rises in Dean's chest and he clenches his fists, trying to resist the urge to punch the angel--because that worked out so well last time. This feathery asshole is making Sam feel like shit and, angel or not, that makes him a bully in Dean's book.

"I think you'll find that Sam is perfectly welcome here," Castiel replies, casting a look around the room that dares anyone else to challenge him. Behind the bar, Adriel is watching the exchange with intense focus, ready to jump in if need be.

"No monstrosity like him will ever have a place here," Zophiel replies. "Not in this bar, not in Heaven." Dean hears Sam's sharp breath and sees red, just about ready to steal Cas's angel blade and put it through the dick as he continues. "Lilims don't go to Heaven or Hell when they die. They go to Purgatory with the rest of the monsters." Sam is breathing shakily now, which means he's close to tears. That's it.

Dean straightens, ready to kill Zophiel, but Castiel's arm is already across his chest, probably aware of his plans.

"Sam is not a Lilim, Zophiel," Cas says. "He has been to Heaven every time he's died, and he will have a permanent place here when his final day does come. And he will be welcome here, because Sam has saved lives and enforced God's will, putting humans before himself. Unlike you, Zophiel, who, as I recall, has spent the past thousand or so years of his life in this very bar." Every angel in the room is shocked by Castiel's remarks, and Dean can easily see the anger in the taller angel's eyes. Zophiel was angry before, but now he's outright pissed.

"You want to see where that disgrace ends up?" Zophiel asks, and Dean comes to the realization that, despite knowing his name, Zophiel refuses to call Sam by it. To acknowledge that he's anything more than a monster. "Let's find out." Zophiel's angel blade slides into his hand and he smirks when Castiel and Dean both put themselves between him and Sam, who looks terrified.

"Enough," Adriel says, speaking up as Castiel arms himself with his own angel blade. "Zophiel, leave this place at once."

"I'm not the pariah here, Adriel," Zophiel says.

"Actually, you'll find that you are." Adriel remarks. "You're the one calling Sam Winchester a monster. You're calling the man who sacrificed himself to stop Lucifer, who almost died trying to destroy our worst enemies, an abomination."

"I don't care if he was blessed by God himself," Zophiel says, a remark that makes Dean smirk. Ironic. "No being that possesses the blood of a demon is worthy of Heaven or association with any of its inhabitants."

"Blessed by God himself, huh?" Adriel replies, obviously sick of Zophiel's mightier-than-thou attitude. Dean can relate. "Did you know that this bar has a list of people who can't get through that door? Lucifer, for one. Any of his supporters. The angel Gadreel. Metatron. Even Michael, should he ever escape the Cage. And monsters of any kind. Vampires. Werewolves. Demons. None are allowed to walk through that door. None are even able. The bar won't let them enter. The bar won't even let most humans enter. Sam is, as you can see, standing inside. Despite the blood in his veins that should disallow him from entering. Do you wonder why that is?"

"Because you've got the hots for his guardian angel?" Zophiel asks patronizingly, rolling his eyes.

"Because Sam is on another list," Adriel says. "A very short list of those who have open access to Heaven. Unlimited access to even the farthest reaches of our home. Humans who are so pure, God himself put them on the shortlist. There are only a few names on it. Mother Theresa, Joan of Arc, and Winston Churchill are a few. So is Dean Winchester. The most recent addition to the list is Sam Winchester. This 'disgrace', as you so eloquently put it, is allowed access to parts of Heaven that you, Zophiel, in all of your angelic goodness, will never see. Did you know that only a select group of angels are allowed to access the Garden?"

"Yes, of course," Zophiel says. "Joshua, and the archangels."

"And Castiel," Adriel says. "His name is the only one on the shortlist that isn't a human. The guardian angel of the Winchesters gets special privileges, it seems." She smirks, angling her head toward Sam and Dean. "Incidentally, Sam and Dean have already visited Joshua's garden." Zophiel's eyes widen at this, and Dean smirks. "I suggest you leave at once, Zophiel, before you're placed on the no-fly list and lose access to my bar."

"I don't care if you won't let me into your stupid bar, Adriel," Zophiel says, crossing his arms and wiping the surprise from his face.

"No, not the bar's list. You're already on that one." Adriel says calmly. "I mean God's list of those who have access to Heaven. You'll find that the Winchesters have quite the influence on our dear Father. Now get out of here, and I don't want to see your face again. Am I understood?" Zophiel grumbles something else about Lilim as he heads to the exit. Emmanuel is waiting to lock the door behind him.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Castiel says. "If I had known Zophiel would act that way, I wouldn't have brought either of you here."

"It's fine, really," Sam says, forcing a smile. "Not the worst thing I've been told by an angel."

"The boy with the demon blood," Adriel says, and the Winchesters and Castiel all turn to look at her with appreciation. "The Boy King." Sam nods hesitantly, still uncomfortable. "I wish the angels had never used either nickname. With a brother called the Righteous Man or the Michael Sword, it seems pretty harsh. I prefer your latest nickname."

"Latest?" Sam asks softly, and Adriel smiles.

"Team Free Will. The righteous man, the guardian angel, and the man who saved us all." She says. "I like that. Sam Winchester, Heaven's savior. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"


	10. No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has been broken one time too many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot takes place at the end of Season 12 Episode 2.

"No..." Sam whispers, his head leaning against the window and his eyes blank as he stares at nothing. "No... no..."

"Cas, please," Dean begs again, and the angel turns his head to address the elder Winchester.

"Dean, I'm sorry. Whatever drug they gave him, it isn't one I've ever seen before." Castiel apologizes. "I fear it's warded specifically against angels' healing."

"That bitch." Dean curses, wishing he had killed the British woman who did this when he had the chance.

"No..." Sam mumbles, and Dean's forming tears help him remember why he didn't.

* * *

When the Impala has been parked back in the bunker and Mary has turned to acknowledge her sons, she finds herself wrapped inside a memory.

Dean is holding Sam against him, the younger man's head against his brother's chest as he shakes, his wide hazel eyes glassy as they stare through Mary and into a nightmare she can't begin to understand.

It's the same position Mary would find her boys in whenever Sammy cried, late at night.

"No..." Sam says softly, the only word Mary has ever heard him say. She missed so much of her sons' lives. What could she possibly be back for?

"No..." Sam says, and the pang in Mary's chest gives her her answer.

* * *

At Dean's request, Castiel touches Sam's forehead again, closing his eyes as he attempts to break through whatever is blocking his healing abilities.

He's tried over and over again to heal Sam, even going so far as to try to enter the youngest Winchester's mind to figure out what exactly he's seeing. But nothing works. Sam is trapped in another world, a very unpleasant one if his murmurs are anything to go by.

"No..." And Sam whimpers again, and Dean pulls his brother to his chest, hugging him as tightly as he dares, careful to avoid Sam's numerous injuries.

Castiel pulls his hand away, allowing the brothers their privacy. The tears in Dean's eyes pain Castiel, but it's the stress that lines Sam's face and the fear in his absent eyes that truly destroy the angel. Why does he feel so much empathy for Sam, when he and Dean were almost so much closer?

"No..." Sam mumbles, and Castiel's breaking heart tell him all he needs to know.

* * *

Sam screams in his mind, but his mouth doesn't move. His body, too weak to move, slumps against the post, and his eyes, too tired to focus, stare at the nothing that Sam knows is the dirty basement. His leg burns, his foot stings, and his entire body aches from the torture he's been subject to in the past day or so.

He isn't really sure how long he's been sitting there, and he doesn't really care. Sam just knows he's never going to escape. Dean is dead, and Lady Bevell has surely warded themselves against angels, if Cas even cares enough to look.

Sam's small family has been shrinking for years, but now he's realizing for the first time that he's truly alone. Sam is the only one left.

So, leaning against the wooden railing of his prison, Sam's exhausted mind can only scream, and his mouth can only form a single word.

"No..."


	11. Now or Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spent too much of his life pushing his brother away.

"Not now, Sammy."

The baby, just learning to walk, to talk, somehow understands the words coming from his brother's mouth.  He turns away, stumbling toward the duffel bag that holds his entire world, pulling out a worn teddy bear and offering it to his big brother.

"Not now, Sammy."

Dejected, the little boy turns away, mumbling his brother's name as he heads for his bed. He buries his face in the plush bear, less than two years old and already learning to hide his tears.

* * *

"Not now, Sammy."

The toddler watches as his brother storms away, confused by the anger on his face. The little boy only wanted to play, to be in the presence of his hero. He follows his brother out of the bedroom, a name, a plea, falling from his lips.

"Not now, Sammy."

The toddler knows when he's beat, giving up and turning away. He just wishes his brother, his hero, his life, would play with him.

* * *

"Not now, Sammy."

The five-year-old holds out a paper but his brother ignores him, attention focused on the window. The boy just started kindergarten, and he needs help with his homework. But his big brother, the brother who knows everything, who fixes everything, doesn't want to fix this.

"Not now, Sammy."

Big brother repeats the same words again, and the boy turns away, back to the table, trying to puzzle out the confusing words his own.

* * *

"Not now, Sammy."

The preteen scowls at the nickname he knows is only being used due to his aversion to it. He wants his brother's help, advice, on the girl in his class. His brother knows everything about girls, but he won't help.

"Not now,  _Sam_."

The boy, not so young anymore, turns away. When they leave that town in the dust a few days later, the boy is still thinking about the girl. He never did work up the courage to talk to her.

* * *

"Not now, Sam."

The young teenager is brushed aside by his brother, who only has eyes for a girl across the courtyard. The teen frowns, recognizing her face, and his eyes widen as he pulls desperately on his brother's sleeve.

"Not now, Sam!"

The sleeve is torn out of the teen's grip and his brother storms off. The teen refuses to turn away until his brother disappears from view, then he runs for their motel. When his brother ends up in the hospital an hour later after a vampire attack, the teen wishes that for once, he would have listened.

* * *

"Not now, Sam."

The teen is barely a teen anymore, tall and gangly and old enough to graduate, but his brother still bosses him around, brushes him off. The teen is used to it by now, used to the ignorance, the denial. It never stops him from trying again.

"Not now, Sam."

He turns away, defeated despite himself by his brother's simple words, a broken promise. The teen thinks about the letter hidden in his duffel bag and makes a final decision.

* * *

"Not now, Sam."

The phone clicks as the college student's brother hangs up on him, those three words the only thing he gets. The boy is homesick, wishing for his brother, his brother who couldn't care less. He tries again, and this time the call goes straight to voicemail.

_Not now, Sam._

The simple words on a screen blur through the young man's tears as he drops his phone, burying his face in his arms.

* * *

"Not now, Sam."

The young man, no longer a student, watches as his brother pushes him away once again, focused on the problem at hand. The pain in the young man's head increases and he grimaces, calling out for his brother once more.

"Not now, Sam!"

His brother is at the end of his tether, and the young man is forced to suffer alone. He grips his head, watching his brother turn away as his familiar world is replaced by a much colder, much more confusing one.

* * *

"Not now, Sam."

The voice of the tired man's brother is different, twisted. Mocking. His mouth is formed into a smirk, but it looks wrong. The young man is too tired to tell the difference.

"Not now,  _Sammy_."

The old nickname sounds like poison on his brother's tongue as he turns away. Hopeless, tired young man closes his eyes, resigning himself to the torture he continues to endure. The words are repeated again, but this time the voice is the one that haunts his nightmares.

* * *

"Not now, Sam."

The words are a whisper, a cracked voice betraying emotions that his brother always tries so hard to keep hidden. The man, no longer young, holds his hands against his stomach, trying to staunch the flow of blood, but he knows it's far too late.

"Not now, Sammy."

That nickname makes its return, bringing tears to the man's eyes. His brother watches hopelessly, not even trying to hide his emotions. Showing the man his fear, his anger, his sorrow. His regret. And for the first time, he continues.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry for abandoning you and ignoring you and pushing you away. But please. Please, don't leave me."

The man simply smiles, unable to say a word. Too weak to reply. And as his eyes slip closed, his big brother whispers those same words again. This time, they mean something different.

"Not now, Sammy. Please."


	12. Home For The Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only one thing Sam wants for Christmas.

The lights twinkled in the dark room, reflecting the flickering fire. A dozen presents sat under the tree, wrapped in colorful paper. Sam Winchester sat on the couch, half asleep but unable to fully drift away, his mind not in the apartment but in the backseat of a Chevy Impala, coasting down the road.

A hand touched Sam's shoulder and he jumped instinctively, looking up to see beautiful blue eyes smiling down at him as the love of his life rounded the couch to sit beside him.

"What do you think?" She asked, gesturing to the Christmas tree and presents sitting in the corner of the room. Sam just smiled, wondering if he was supposed to be happier than he was. He knew he should be thankful, but all he could think about was the ones who weren't there.

"I love it." He said, ignoring his depressing thoughts, and Jessica grabbed his hand, pulling him off to bed.

* * *

The next day, the apartment was no longer quiet.

The room with the tree was filled with rowdy college students, every friend Sam and Jessica had made in their years at Stanford. Brady was examining each gift, searching carefully for the ones with his name on them.

"Hey, Sam, there's a-"

"Presents!" Jessica called, interrupting Brady's comment and causing a sudden hush to fall over the group as conversations were cut off, young adults running for the couch and the chairs, trying to find a place to sit. Jessica remained standing to pass out presents but when Sam tried to help, she declined, forcing him to take a seat. "It's your Christmas, Sam." She insisted when he tried to protest.

Sam didn't know why he told Jessica the truth about his family's history with Christmases, but she hadn't kept it a secret—not that he had been trying to hide it. Jessica had organized the entire day around Sam, buying and decorating the tree and making sure all of their friends brought presents for him. Making sure he had the Christmas he'd never gotten to experience as a kid.

Despite Jessica's meaningful gesture, the hole in Sam's heart continued to ache.

* * *

"This one is for... you guessed it... Sam!" Brady exclaimed the news loudly with a flourish, tossing the small box toward Sam. Sam's hunter reflexes kicked in before he could stop them and he caught the present midair, surprising several of his friends.

"From... Jess." Sam read, frowning. "You said you weren't going to get me anything." He turned to his girlfriend, who shrugged, cheeks coloring ever so slightly.

"That was before I found out how deprived you were as a child." Jess teased, leaning in for a kiss. Zach's comical groan broke up the couple and Sam smirked, opening the carefully wrapped box and pulling out a watch.

"Jess, you shouldn't have," Sam said in disbelief, staring at the shining silver watch. It had to be more expensive than anything Sam had ever held in his life, and he wasn't really sure what to do with it. What if he broke it?

"Put it on! Put it on!" Brady's chant was quickly picked up by Zach, Becky, and the rest of Sam's friends, and with a laugh, Sam allowed Jessica to take the watch, fastening it around his wrist. The weight was strange on Sam's arm, but somehow comfortable. It made Sam feel loved, but something was still missing.

"I love it, Jess," Sam said as his friends began chatting about football and Christmas memories, two things he'd never be able to relate to.

"Well, Brady said you needed a watch since your old one broke, and I figured you'd like this one," Jess replied, diving into a story about her watch-finding escapades.

A sudden sharp knock on the door of the apartment cut off the conversations within the group of friends, and Brady was the first to stand and head for the door.

"Uh, Sam, looks like you've got mail," Brady said awkwardly, returning to the room with a misshapen box in his hands. Stam stood, taking the box and quickly finding the tag.

_Merry Christmas, Sammy_

Sam's eyes widened in disbelief at the familiarly messy handwriting and he shoved the package back into Brady's hands, sprinting toward the door and out of the apartment. Sam looked around wildly, running down the sidewalk a ways and listening for the sound of a car's engine.

He was too late.

* * *

Sam sank into the couch, grabbing the present wrapped in a brown paper bag and tearing it open. A gas station card fell out, another message written inside. Same words, and still no signature. Sam didn't need one. He knew exactly who brought the gift.

Who else wrapped Christmas presents in paper bags?

Other than the card, the box held two packs of gum, a package of beef jerky, and a postcard with a picture of Bigfoot on it.

"A collection of gas station stuff? Who would get you that?"  Zach wondered, but Sam just smiled, staring at the familiar handwriting and remembering some childhood Christmases that weren't really as bad as Jess had assumed.

Sam set the card down, smirking at the Bigfoot postcard and whispering a reply to the words scrawled hastily on the outside of the box and carefully on the inside of the card.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

And the hole in his heart healed a little bit, and the feeling of something missing finally began to go away. And Brady laughed and Zach shoved him and Becky teased them both, and Jess leaned down and pecked Sam's lips, and he held tightly to the card without a signature. And for the first time since he started at Stanford, Sam felt truly at home.

 

 

 


	13. Happy Birthday, Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters don't celebrate birthdays.

The Winchesters don't celebrate birthdays.

Dean gets that, of course. They've never really celebrated birthdays, and it's never been a big deal. And after Dean's death on Sam's birthday, May 2nd has come and gone without either Winchester mentioning it.

But what Dean has never understood is why his own birthday is never celebrated anymore.

It's not that he's selfish. He couldn't care less if he got presents or cake (or pie). It's just that for as long as Dean can remember, Sam has celebrated his birthday. It was the only consistent communication they had after Sam went to Stanford, a phone call every January 24th, a happy birthday message, and that was it. When Dean stopped answered the phone after two years, Sam left him a birthday voicemail, and Dean will never admit to anyone that it was the best gift he had ever received.

But when Dean and Sam got back together again, suddenly, inexplicably, the birthday messages and surprises and acknowledgments just... stopped.

Dean didn't even notice for a few years. It's not like he was expecting a birthday celebration—the unexpectedness was part of what made Sam's surprises so special. Dean's birthday passed without comment for years, past Sam's death and resurrection and even Dean's subsequent death. In fact, it wasn't until Lisa and Ben presented Dean with a birthday cake the year Sam was in the Cage that the elder Winchester began to realize that Sam hadn't mentioned his brother's birthday since his last Stanford call in 2005.

But when Sam came back half a year later, Dean didn't mention it. Neither brother spoke about birthdays, but every time January 24th rolled around Dean looked at the date on his phone and wondered.

And then Mary Winchester came back to life. And on January 24th, she brought it up while the brothers were eating breakfast.

"How old are you now, Dean?" Mary asked casually, too casually. Dean shrugged, barely registering the question.

"Why?" He asked, and Mary frowned, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, it's your birthday, isn't it?" Dean's eyes met Sam's and he nearly choked on his eggs. Sam was staring at his breakfast, long hair shading hazel eyes. Hazel eyes that were shining with tears.

Sam looked up at Dean and said a single word, and suddenly, the elder Winchester understood.

"Jess."

That night, Dean went into the library after Sam and Mary had gone to bed and grabbed a book off of one of the shelves. It was old, torn, and dirty, a stark contrast to the rest of the library, but just as important. It was John Winchester's hunting journal, and Dean opened it to a creased page about two-thirds through and pulled out a photograph of Sam and Jessica. He smiled softly, looking at the smile on his brother's face. Then his eyes shifted to the beautiful blonde frozen in time, happy and lovely and more in love than anyone Dean had ever met.

"Happy birthday, Jessica," Dean whispered to the photo, picturing the kind-hearted girl he met only once. The sound of a clearing throat lifted Dean's head and he turned to see Sam standing beside him, holding out a beer. Dean slipped the photo back into the journal and set it down on the shelf, grabbing the beer. As he opened it, Sam smiled softly, waiting for Dean to take a drink before he opened his mouth.

"Happy birthday, Dean."


	14. Just Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the episode It's All In The Family (s11e21), there's a small scene where Sam is excitedly talking about his questions for Chuck, and Dean cuts him off. It's a very small part of the episode, but I didn't really like how Dean reacted, so I wrote a little alternate version.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was previously posted on the Supernatural Amino under the same username.

"You know, I know this is a really strange situation and all, but it's also really amazing, you know?" Sam says, laughing to himself and looking up at Dean. Dean is wearing a small smile and he's watching his brother closely, trying to convey his genuine interest through his eyes. "I mean, it's  _God_. There's so many things I want to ask him, uh, like, uh, t-the planets, you know? Why are they round? Or ears. I always thought they were strange." Sam continues to ramble for a while as Dean watches, that small smile only growing wider as his brother's face changes, appearing younger and younger. Right in front of Dean's eyes, Sam turns into a boy again.

Dean savors every word Sam says became Sam deserves every chance he gets to be a kid again, even when he's thirty-two years old and he's literally been to Hell and back. And the only times Sam really turns into that little kid again are times like these, times when he's sucked into that bright, optimistic world of his that Dean only wishes he could understand. Dean never had any optimism, not since their mom died. But Sam, Sam has enough hope for the both of them.

"Oh, I... I'm rambling again, aren't I." Sam says, his face growing red as Dean frowns. He's tempted to say yes. Growing up with his dad beating his interests into the dust has made telling Sam to cool the fanboying and focus on the task at hand almost instinctive. But this time, Dean shakes off the ghosts, sending his brother another smile. He hasn't seen Sam this enthusiastic about anything in years. They've had a tough few months, and Sam deserves all the happiness he can get.

So Dean doesn't tell Sam to stop. He doesn't tell him that there are more important matters at hand. Nothing is more important to Dean than Sam's happiness.

"No, don't worry about it," Dean says with a smile, watching as Sam's nervous eyes light up. "What were you saying? Something about ears?"

"I don't know, I guess ears are pretty weird," Sam says, bouncing right back into the happy baby brother Dean loves so much. "But then again, colors are a strange concept, too. I mean, where did they even come from? Did God invent them, or were they already there? How did he come up with them? Can he see all those colors humans can't, like the extra colors mantis shrimp see? And what about..."


	15. The Last Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared and Jensen like to joke about the possibility of a Supernatural movie after the series finally comes to an end. This is a finale scene that incorporates that idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written before the Season 11 finale, in case you were wondering why Mary isn't a part of this story.

When the Winchester brothers finally meet their end, it's almost a relief.

They've been fighting for far too long against enemies big and small, and their time is finally up.

They can't defeat this threat. No one can help them. No one can save them now, not even God himself. Instead of fighting, they've been running. And Winchesters don't like running. So when the end comes, Sam and Dean are ready for it.

Crowley is the first to die, his vessel reduced to bones when the Winchesters find it, victim to the decomposition it should have gone through years before. As far as the brothers can tell, he died quickly. An angel blade through the chest, but not done by an angel's hand.

Castiel dies next, wings scorched into the wooden tables of the bunker's library, limbs splayed out and mouth agape. Dean has to leave the room when he sees that the angel's bright blue eyes are still open, forever staring into the eyes of his attacker. Like Crowley, his final moments are also spent at the end of a corrupted angel blade.

When the Winchesters die, they do so in the same way that they've done most everything else: together. They don't search for their fate, they let it come to them, and thunderous footsteps precede the pure evil that enters the bunker, bypassing every level of warding and every protection. The brothers face their deaths head on, standing on the remains of their guardian angel, in the hopes that Castiel's scorched wings will offer them one last sliver of protection.

Sam is the first to fall, hands pressed against his side as he coughs, red splattering across the smooth wooden floors, legs buckling beneath him. Dean falls soon after, hands on his stomach, eyes rolling as he tries to focus on his brother. Their final enemy doesn't allow them the privilege of a quick death. Instead, he smiles, disappearing and leaving the Winchesters alone to die.

The first to fall is the first to go, and Dean watches hopelessly as Sam's eyes are devoured by darkness and his soul is dragged into the depths of a Hell that is no longer an ally. For the very last time in his life, Dean Winchester closes his eyes and prays.

He prays that he'll wake up beside his brother. He prays that they'll spend eternity together, whether in Heaven or Hell. He prays that just this once, Sam will get a happy ending.

Dean knows in his heart that Sam has already lost his happy ending.

As the last Winchester's heart stutters and dies, a single tear escapes his eye and falls to the scorched, blood-soaked floor.

And then Dean is in the driver's seat of the Impala, and the radio is playing classic rock, and there's no stab wound in his stomach and there's no blood on his hands, but there's no brother sitting in the passenger seat, either. And Dean knows that he's in Heaven, but Sam isn't, and Heaven isn't Heaven unless Sam is right there at Dean's side.

And Dean knows that he may be dead, but he's not staying dead and he sure isn't staying put until he has Sam with him in the Heaven they share. And besides, Winchesters aren't the type to stop fighting, even when they're dead. So Dean hits the brakes, pulls the Impala into a sharp u-turn, and heads for the Roadhouse, because he knows a guy who can break him out of Heaven, and he's pretty sure there's a reaper somewhere in Chicago who can get him into Hell.

"Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming."


	16. Little One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of a fanfiction I'll never write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on the Supernatural Amino under the same username.

The little girl stumbles down the street, her wide hazel eyes shining in the light of the streetlamps. She grips the small picture in her even smaller palm, slowly making her way down the road.

She doesn't understand why she's there, why her mommy made her take the picture and a small backpack and leave the house. She doesn't know who the men were, why the woman smiled at her that way, how she's supposed to do what her mommy told her to. All she knows is that she has to find the man in the picture. Her mommy said he's in town. She said he's at the little motel they stayed at once while their house was being remodeled. That's the word her mommy used, remodeled. When the little girl got to go back home, her room looked different. Bigger. She liked it better before, when it was smaller. It felt safer then.

The little girl sees the red light of a motel sign first, then she sees the black car parked outside one of the rooms. Her mommy said that's where man is. The man is staying in the room with the old black car outside. The little girl makes her way to the door, her feet tired from all the walking, and she knocks as hard as she can. The door opens and the little girl looks up at the giant man standing in the doorway. She thinks he must be at least three times as big as her, maybe more.

"Hello?" He asks kindly, and the girl hugs his leg, dropping the picture as she does so. Another man picks up the photograph, and his eyes widen.

"Sam, this is you." The other man says, and the first man picks the little girl up, balancing her on his hip the same way her mommy does.

"Who are you?" He asks nicely, and the little girl opens her backpack, pulling out the letter her mommy told her she put inside. She hands it to the other man, who opens it.

"Dear Sam Winchester," the other man reads, "I know you don't remember me, but if you're reading this, I had no other choice. A little over five years ago, you and I met while hunting the same thing. We got together, killed the Wendigo, then went our separate ways. The only problem is, you weren't you. You didn't have a soul, Sam. Bobby told me. He also told me not to ever tell you about her. If you're reading this now, I didn't have a choice. Lily is like you, Sam. And the demons want her. You have to protect her, even if you don't remember me. She's your daughter. And if you're reading this letter, you're the only thing she has left." The other man finishes the letter and looks up, staring at the little girl with wide eyes.

"She's like me," The man called Sam repeats, sitting down on one of the beds and setting the little girl down beside him. She looks up at him, trying to figure out who he is, why he looks so familiar.

He looks like her.

"Daddy?" The little girl asks, and Sam nods, sighing.

"Yeah." He says, smiling. "I guess I'm your Daddy."


	17. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes two firsts for John to realize that he comes second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on the Supernatural Amino under the same username.

It takes Sammy a long time to take that first step.

John remembers how it went with Dean. Barely a year old, his eldest son was tramping across the room, sure of himself from the moment he left his father's arms to the second he entered in his mother's embrace. He fell a lot in the first few weeks but that never stopped him, and he always climbed back up immediately, getting right back on walking to wherever his little mind decided he was headed.

Sammy, on the other hand, is taking his time. He's been careful about everything—he was slow to crawl, too—so John isn't really surprised that his youngest hasn't started walking yet. The small brunet boy doesn't say much, either, but John suspects that Sammy is smarter than he appears. It isn't until John sees Sammy crawling across the carpeted floor of their latest motel room that he hears the baby speak.

"Bean," Sammy says, crawling right toward his brother, who is sitting on one of the beds on the other side of the room. "Bean." Sammy reaches up, grabbing onto his brother's pant leg and pulling himself to his feet. Dean looks down with a soft smile on his face that John knows is reserved for his little brother. Sammy looks back up at Dean with a love in his eyes that John has never witnessed aimed at himself. Sammy and Dean are their own little family, and John knows that. Deals with that.

"Dean, come help me." John says, not feeling quite as guilty as he probably should for breaking up the brothers' little 'moment'. Dean nods, smiling at Sammy and walking over to his dad, who hands him a plate to wash.

"Bean?" Sammy asks, and John watches as the small boy carefully turns himself around to figure out where his brother went. The second Sammy's eyes land on Dean, they light up, and a huge smile spreads across the chubby boy's face. Then, right before John's eyes, Sammy takes a cautious step, releasing his hold on the bed. John touches Dean's shoulder lightly and the elder boy turns, and the pair watch together as Sammy slowly but surely makes his way across the room, repeating the same word over and over again.

"Bean," Sammy says one last time as he wraps his arms around his brother's waist. Dean hugs Sammy back tightly enough to break the smaller boy's back but simultaneously gently enough that Sammy doesn't care. John feels a pang in his chest as he realizes that Sammy's first steps weren't toward him, but toward Sammy's big brother, in the same way that Dean's first steps were toward his mother. They both moved toward the person they loved the most. And John isn't that person for either of them.

"Hey, Sammy, can you walk to Dad?" Dean asks, and John looks up in surprise.

"Daddy?" Sammy repeats, the elusive 'D' forming relatively clearly and causing both Dean and John to realize that 'Bean' isn't so much a result of Sammy's inability to pronounce the letter but an affectionate nickname for his brother. "Daddy," Sammy says more confidently, and he leaves his brother's arms and walks over to his father, just as sure of himself as Dean was four years ago.

As he wraps his arms around his youngest son, that pain in John's heart caused by the feeling of being left out of his sons' lives is replaced by a warmth more reminiscent of a better time a couple of years ago.


	18. Superhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy always knows how to cheer his big brother up.

Halloween isn't something that's normally celebrated at the Winchesters' house.

Not that you can really call it a house. At the moment, little Dean and littler Sammy are staying in a relatively crappy motel room somewhere in Michigan—Dean can't be bothered to remember where anymore. He's nine years old now, old enough to know that home is temporary and there's no point making friends because you're just going to leave them behind. But Sam, little Sammy who just started kindergarten, hasn't quite gotten the hang of that yet.

"I hafta dress up, Dean!" Sammy exclaims, stamping his little foot as if that makes him any more intimidating. Dean is cooking mac and cheese on the stove for dinner and pointedly ignoring his little brother. Usually, he'll indulge in Sammy's fantasies, but this is the third motel they've been to in as many weeks and Dean is just plain tired.

Tired of moving. Tired of his dad's yelling. Tired of pretending that Sam will still be here to go to the Halloween dress-up party at school that he's so excited about.

"Dean!" Sammy says angrily, his voice wavering just enough to draw Dean's attention. The elder Winchester brother turns, frowning when he sees the sparkling in Sammy's eyes that can only mean one thing: Sammy is close to tears. And as soon as Sammy realizes he's being watched, he turns on the puppy dog eyes, and Dean sighs. Stupid little brothers and their stupid optimism and their stupid puppy dog eyes.

"Just... I don't know, Sammy." Dean says. "Go as a superhero or something. I'm sure Dad's got an old shirt we can make into a cape or something." Sammy pauses, seemingly considering the idea. Then he gives Dean a dimpled grin, bright hazel eyes lighting up.

"I'm gonna go as my fav'rite superhero, Dean!" Sammy informs his brother excitedly, and Dean smiles.

"Oh? Who's that?" He presses, and Sammy giggles.

"It's a secret." He explains.

"Well, I can't help you with your costume if I don't know who you're going as." Dean points out, and Sammy frowns.

"Fine." The little boy says after a minute. "I'll show you!" Sammy brightens up quickly, that big smile back on his face. "Stay here, and don't look!" He orders, disappearing into the sleeping area that can't really be called a bedroom since it isn't actually its own room. The duffel bags are hidden from Dean's view, but something tells him he'll have to repack his dad's bag before John gets back. Sammy's pretty organized for a five-year-old, but there's only so much he can do.

"Dean, look!" Sammy says, and Dean turns, his eyes widening. He was expecting a red flannel tied around Sam's neck, or maybe a leather jacket draped over his shoulders. But Sam has wrestled himself into a shirt that is distinctly Dean's, even going to far as to mess up his hair, trying to mimic Dean's signature hairstyle.

The ensemble gives Dean pause, and Sammy immediately takes his silence the wrong way.

"Do you... Don't you like it?" Sammy asks dejectedly. "I'm you, Dean? See? Because you're my favorite superhero!"

"I'm not a superhero," Dean says quietly, surprised when Sammy is quick to disagree.

"Yes, you are!" He insists. "Superheroes help people, even if it means they can't help themselves. You do that all the time!"

"The only person I'm helping is you." Dean points out. "Superheroes save  _everyone_ , not just one person." He isn't really sure why he's so against the idea. Maybe he doesn't want to give Sammy false hope about his heroic abilities. Or maybe he doesn't think he's the kind of person Sammy should be looking up to.

"Well..." Sammy trails off, trying to find an argument. "Maybe you aren't everyone's superhero." He concedes. "But you're still mine." Dean smiles at this, and Sammy smiles. "You're my favorite superhero, Dean, even if you're only a superhero to me."


	19. Broken Hazel Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't worry, Sam. You belong in Heaven, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on the Supernatural Amino under the same username.

Castiel has fallen from Heaven, risen, and fallen again. He's betrayed his own kind to help the very species they despise. He's turned against them to help abominations. Two years ago, he allowed the Devil to use his body to escape from his cage for the second time, and so it's his fault that Lucifer runs free.

But Castiel knows that all of that pales in comparison to the life of the man sitting before him right now.

Sam's shoulders are hunched, his hair shading his eyes and the rest of his face hidden by his hands. Castiel can hear the ragged breaths that usually signify that Sam is close to tears. Years ago, Castiel would have disregarded the emotions of the younger Winchester, deeming him unimportant in the grand scheme of things, unworthy of the time of one of Heaven's warriors.

Castiel is a different angel now. Sam made him a different angel.

So instead of walking away, Castiel walks toward Sam, touching his shoulder uncertainly. Castiel knows that he should try to help, although he's unsure of how exactly to do that. But his simple touch appears to be enough, as the tension in Sam's body dissipates ever so slightly.

"Hi, Cas," Sam says, and Castiel tilts his head slightly as he acknowledges Sam's words.

"How did you know it was me?" Castiel eventually asks, giving in to his confusion. The angel was trying to imitate Sam's brother, but somehow Sam immediately knew the difference.

"Angels just... feel different, I guess," Sam admits, looking up at Castiel. The angel takes a seat beside Sam, looking into his broken hazel eyes. By the time Castiel met Sam, Sam had already been broken. Castiel sometimes wonders what Sam's eyes looked like before they were constantly shadowed, before they were filled with guilt.

"You cannot sleep," Castiel says. It's a statement, not a question, but Sam nods anyway.

"I can't stop... thinking, you know?" Sam says, and Castiel nods in agreement. Angels don't require sleep, so Castiel often spends his nights roaming the bunker, thinking. That's how he found Sam in the first place.

"When I was human, I learned that it was easier to sleep on an unburdened mind," Castiel admits. "I found that prayer was quite effective in lifting my burdens. I don't suppose that would work for you in the same way."

"Yeah, not anymore," Sam says, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he huffs out a halfhearted laugh. "Dean would say I'm a talker. I have to tell someone how I'm feeling, let the words out. Share the burden, I guess. Dean calls it lightening the load." Castiel has noticed in the past that Sam often shifts the conversation toward his brother when he's speaking to or in the presence of angels. Perhaps he's deflecting the angels' attention from himself onto Dean?

"You could talk to me," Castiel says, the words coming out as more of a question than a statement this time. Sam hesitates, rubbing his wrist for a moment. Castiel watches as Sam's right hand hovers over his left palm for a moment, his fingers ghosting over the fading scar that resides there.

"I guess that with everything that's been going on with Mom and Lucifer and Kelly, it brought back some old insecurities," Sam says slowly, choosing to leave his palm be and returning to rubbing his wrist instead.

"What kind of insecurities?" Castiel can't help but ask. He's never been able to read Sam as well as he can most other humans. The younger Winchester brother has been a mystery to Castiel since the very first time he saw him.

"It's stupid. It's just something Lucifer said to me." Sam admits with a sigh. Castiel nods, wondering if this conversation happened the first time Sam met the Devil, more recently, or while Castiel was serving as his vessel. Castiel doesn't remember much of anything about his time as Lucifer's vessel, a deliberate choice on Satan's part. He sincerely hopes it wasn't his voice that planted doubts in Sam's mind.

"You cannot trust his words, Sam," Castiel says. "The Devil lies."

"Not to me," Sam replies. "That was something he promised me during the apocalypse, before I ever even considered saying yes. He promised he would never lie to me. And he didn't not while I was refusing him, not when he was using me as his vessel, not even in the Cage." Sam flinches at his own words, the memories of his time in Hell likely lurking just below the surface of his mind, waiting for their opportunity to break out and overwhelm him. Castiel knows what Sam went through in the Cage, thanks to the memories he gained while saving Sam from his hallucinations a few years back. To this day, the angel has no idea how Sam lasted as long as he did.

"What did he say to you?" Castiel asks.

"He's not even the first angel to tell me that, is the thing," Sam says, ignoring Castiel's question entirely. " _You've_ told me the same thing." Castiel tilts his head at this. What could he possibly have said to Sam that Lucifer echoed?

Sam looks down at his hands, then back up at Castiel. He tugs at his lip with his teeth, obviously seriously considering something. After a minute, he sighs, frowning.

"When I die, where do you think I'll end up?"

Suddenly, Castiel understands exactly what Sam is thinking. He knows what Lucifer told the youngest Winchester, remembers when he told Sam the exact same thing. Remembers the time when he actually believed it.

"You told me Hell," Sam says. "That the blood in my veins meant I'd never have access to Heaven. Lucifer said Purgatory. Said I wasn't human enough to end up in Heaven  _or_ Hell. So who's right?"

"Neither of us was correct, Sam," Castiel says immediately. "Lucifer lies, and I don't believe the same things I did when I told you that.

"You told me that long before I released Lucifer and became his vessel." Sam protests. "You told me that before I became soulless and killed a bunch of innocent people. Before my mistakes set Lucifer free  _again_. If anything, all I've done since then is guarantee my place in Hell." Sam's broken hazel eyes meet Castiel's blue ones, wide but shuttered, bright but dull. Those eyes tell Castiel all he needs to know about Sam's words. it doesn't matter if they're true, because Sam definitely believes them.

"Sam, I'm not the same person I was back then, and neither are you," Castiel says. "You've been through more in the last decade than I have in several millennia, and yet you believe in this?" Sam's eyes are downcast, focusing once again on his hands. "When I told you that you were destined to spend eternity in Hell, I wasn't seeing you, Sam. I was looking into your eyes, but all I saw was the tainted blood in your veins. I believed that your blood determined your destiny. I know now that I was incorrect. You taught me that I was incorrect." Castiel pauses, watching as Sam runs his finger along one of the veins in his arm, tracing the path his tainted blood travels. "I learned that your body isn't what controls your destiny. It's your mind. Your soul. Your heart." Castiel reaches out, touching Sam's chest and forcing the young man to look up into the angel's eyes. "Sam, you taught me that any someone's heart is more important than any other piece of their body." Sam shakes his head, obviously not believing a single word coming out of Castiel's mouth.

"There's only so much a heart can do to make up for the rest of the body," Sam says dejectedly. "I wish I believed you, Cas, I really do. I would have, years ago. Not now. Not anymore. I know better than to have hope for things like that."

"You still have hope," Castiel replies. "If you didn't have hope, you never would have told me what you were thinking. You told me what Lucifer said to you because at least part of you hoped that I would say the opposite. And I did. I am." Sam shrugs, looking down. "Your brother is the righteous man. His destiny lies in his soul. But your destiny, Sam, lies in your heart. Not your mind, not your soul, not your blood. Your heart. Your heart that spent a year trying to save your brother from a demon deal. Your heart that forgave me for subjecting you to hallucinations that very nearly killed you. Your heart that speaks for your mind, that tells you where to go and what to do. That tells you to save lives and forgive those who aren't evil, just misunderstood. The heart that chose to save the werewolves who never hurt a single human, and the vampires who feed on livestock to avoid taking a human life. Most hunters would never forgive those creatures, but you do. Because of your heart.

Sam is crying now, silver tears filling his eyes. Only a few escape, but Castiel understands that Sam needs to have his strength. So the angel doesn't comment on Sam's tears, taking his hand instead.

"When Dean dies, he'll have a guaranteed place in Heaven. You've had to work for your place, and I don't think that's fair." Castiel says. Sam's broken hazel eyes meet the angel's once again, but their quality is different. They're wide, but not shuttered. Bright, and no longer as dull. Tearful, but not hopeless. Sam's broken hazel eyes are not quite as broken as they were before. "Don't worry, Sam. You belong in Heaven, too."


End file.
